


Downtime

by Miz_Bluebird



Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Betrayal, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Complete, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miz_Bluebird/pseuds/Miz_Bluebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Try this. It's called an Extra Life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtime

It's late, even by the system clock. Picocycles tick away between them, silent and unresolved. Without an explanation for the gridbugs, without some idea of _why_ , the best they can do is deploy more security and reroute critical energy conduits through lower-priority areas.

"Let's," it's a long sigh as Flynn scrubs his hands through his hair, "come on, let's take a break."

Clu can't get tired, not in the same way, but he can stall. He can freeze. He can lock up trying to process problems built on fallacies: he knows where the gridbugs are coming from, but he also knows Flynn doesn't want to hear it, not again.

"That's acceptable."

Flynn gives a tired kind of grin and dumps their diagrams into a new directory with a sweep of his hand. "Let's blow this pop stand."

The expression is new. Clu blinks. "What?"

"Let's go. Come on."

"Okay." It's a nicer alternative to yes. "Where are we going?"

"Not Flynn's," he says, with a rueful chuckle and the look that means _please, buddy_. Even this late, he'd draw a crowd. They wouldn't be able to stay away, and he wouldn't be able to turn them away--they're his responsibility, and his joy, a continual source of inspiration and surprise. But he's been staring at screens in two worlds for what feels like three and a half days crammed into one twenty-four-hour space.

Flynn can't _even_ deal with Programs swarming him in worship right now.

Clu considers with a slow tilt of his head, leaning in the same direction, with an identical thrust of the chin. Sometimes it really is like looking in a mirror.

"...Not End of Line."

He's still struggling to resolve his stated directive with the implied command that he leave the problem alone, insofar as it concerns the ISOs. Clu is not in any frame of function to...Man. He can't _even_ deal with partygoers right now.

"Deal." Flynn's already moving, as though energized by a new plan that Clu can almost feel taking shape around him. It's reassuring. "Hex it is."

Clu's busy sorting Flynn's new subdirectory, and he's caught off guard by the deviation from procedure. "This late? They're still open?"

Flynn twists in place to regard him with bemusement. "For us? Yeah."

And that's that.

Snobs would call Hexadecimal a hole in the wall, a socializing and recharge station run by Byte and Kilo, paired sibling programs who were into graphic modeling, but not fancy about it. They were intrigued by the User world, and tried to recreate it in their interior and structural designs, which changed as often as Flynn brought them more data on architecture. Tonight, the Hex was very casual, all rough pine paneling--still smooth as glass to the touch--and overstuffed cushions. The wide, square windows were propped open, letting the electric tang of rain drift in from outside.

Probably Byte's doing. He was always working in some new detail, coming up with interesting variations on any pattern he was given.

"Greetings!" Byte waved them over from behind the counter, quick and eager. "I mean, welcome."

"Not bad," said Clu, one arm folded. "Try adding IDs to it," he suggested.

"Welcome, User Kevin Flynn, System Administrator Clu."

Neither of them completely understood what was so funny, but Byte was kind of flattered. He'd made the Creator laugh.

"Oh! Here." He scooted one of his experiments across the counter at Flynn without prompting. The contents of the glass were a bright, throbbing electric green, like a drinkable traffic light. "Try this. It's called an Extra Life."

"Sure thing." It occurred to Flynn an instant too late that green meant _go_. It was like swallowing a live wire. One that tasted overpoweringly of sugar. "Whoa," he gasped. "There's--there's a kick to that."

"The principle ingredient is identical to caffeine," Kilo supplied helpfully.

"No kidding," Flynn managed, sipping more cautiously this time. It was a lot smoother with a little warning. He surveyed Clu with a glint in his eye. "Come on, you ought to try one."

Clu processed that look for a long moment.

Then he flashed them both a grin and ordered a double.


End file.
